The Awful Sting
Dreams are strange things.
In my dreams, I've been beaten, been shot at, been bitten, had my throat slit, had my hair yanked out by the handful, had my hand crushed, and a whole lot of other stuff, but I've never felt any pain. It's like how I can still quite clearly remember when, as a three year-old, I'd placed my little open palm on the steel kettle that had just been taken off the stove, and how I had been sobbing when my Daddy applied a cold cream to that angrily red palm. I remember the exact moment my palm touched the hot steel, but not how it must have burnt me; I remember the feel of cold cream on my palm, but not how it must have hurt.
This must be why people pinch themselves to make sure they are not dreaming: if you can feel the sting of the pinch, you must be awake.
Last night, I dreamt I met a very nice middle-aged gentleman who sold Asian pastries. He was a very friendly and sweet man, very nice to me, and I liked him a lot. But then, I had to watch in horror as he keeled over of a heart attack, dead, almost immediately, and then was swept away by the flood of water coming in from under a door.
It had hurt so much, but I didn't wake with a start, as I am wont to in terrifying dreams. That this dream didn't let me wake made it perhaps more terrifying than the rest. I was hit by an overwhelming sense of grief and loss which hurt more than a slashed throat or a crushed hand, and because I didn't wake from the dream, the pain went on and on, compounding with every passing second.
I cried my heart out. The more I cried, the more I hurt, and the more I hurt, the more I cried. I have no words for how it had felt in that dream, except that it was very much like the feeling I'd once decided, a long time ago, I'd never ever want to experience.
Because, I'd figured as a thirteen year-old, with physical pain, you can most of the time actually see the hurt - like a bruise or a cut - and you can see heal; and most of the time, it will heal and go away, even if it were to leave a mark of its once being there.
But with this other sort of pain, you can't see it at all; sometimes, you don't even know if it would heal. It could hurt forever, and you wouldn't know. Sometimes, not knowing made it hurt all the worse.
Maybe this is why some people like cutting themselves; though, for the life of me, I can't see how physically hurting yourself would make the other pain go away. It might distract you for a moment, but what then? Your cuts will heal and maybe leave scabs and scars, but they don't guarantee the same would happen to your other pain.
Still, if there is irrefutable evidence that would prove me wrong, I'll be wearing scarlet bracelets on my wrists; but until then, maybe only pretending it doesn't exist will make it sting a little less.
In my dreams, I've been beaten, been shot at, been bitten, had my throat slit, had my hair yanked out by the handful, had my hand crushed, and a whole lot of other stuff, but I've never felt any pain. It's like how I can still quite clearly remember when, as a three year-old, I'd placed my little open palm on the steel kettle that had just been taken off the stove, and how I had been sobbing when my Daddy applied a cold cream to that angrily red palm. I remember the exact moment my palm touched the hot steel, but not how it must have burnt me; I remember the feel of cold cream on my palm, but not how it must have hurt.
This must be why people pinch themselves to make sure they are not dreaming: if you can feel the sting of the pinch, you must be awake.
Last night, I dreamt I met a very nice middle-aged gentleman who sold Asian pastries. He was a very friendly and sweet man, very nice to me, and I liked him a lot. But then, I had to watch in horror as he keeled over of a heart attack, dead, almost immediately, and then was swept away by the flood of water coming in from under a door.
It had hurt so much, but I didn't wake with a start, as I am wont to in terrifying dreams. That this dream didn't let me wake made it perhaps more terrifying than the rest. I was hit by an overwhelming sense of grief and loss which hurt more than a slashed throat or a crushed hand, and because I didn't wake from the dream, the pain went on and on, compounding with every passing second.
I cried my heart out. The more I cried, the more I hurt, and the more I hurt, the more I cried. I have no words for how it had felt in that dream, except that it was very much like the feeling I'd once decided, a long time ago, I'd never ever want to experience.
Because, I'd figured as a thirteen year-old, with physical pain, you can most of the time actually see the hurt - like a bruise or a cut - and you can see heal; and most of the time, it will heal and go away, even if it were to leave a mark of its once being there.
But with this other sort of pain, you can't see it at all; sometimes, you don't even know if it would heal. It could hurt forever, and you wouldn't know. Sometimes, not knowing made it hurt all the worse.
Maybe this is why some people like cutting themselves; though, for the life of me, I can't see how physically hurting yourself would make the other pain go away. It might distract you for a moment, but what then? Your cuts will heal and maybe leave scabs and scars, but they don't guarantee the same would happen to your other pain.
Still, if there is irrefutable evidence that would prove me wrong, I'll be wearing scarlet bracelets on my wrists; but until then, maybe only pretending it doesn't exist will make it sting a little less.
posted by s at 17:00
2 Comments:
my dreams are not yet that morbid. nor emotional. i have recurring dreams of having my teeth fall out whenever i get stressed.
and yeah, i tend to agree with the ignore-and-maybe-it'll-leave theory.
Seems to me like you've been reading a bit too much Sandman? Dreams are wierd stuff - you get these intense, emotional dreams and you wake up feeling totally affected... When nothing is really different or has changed. But cliche as it sounds, time does heal all things.
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